


stockholm syndrome

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: Viren has a complicated relationship with power. Runaan just thinks he's an idiot. This is not a romance.
Relationships: Runaan/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 48





	stockholm syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> in which viren makes sure his favorite prisoner stays hydrated

Viren is tired.

Harrow is gone, his children are on a dangerous fool’s mission that they can’t possibly fulfill, and the very kingdom he’d devoted his life to helping build on the verge of chaos. But while the High Council remains in this ridiculous deadlock, too hesitant to make any decisive moves while the princes are gone, it falls to Viren to step into a leadership role. And so he does, willingly, because he values strength and competence over bullshit moralizing when countless lives are on the line.

He ignores Gren’s chipper greeting as he passes, making a mental note to get him some food; it’d been nearly half a day since his last meal. Every day this burden grows heavier, and he’s forced into tighter and tighter corners in order to do what is required of him, no matter how distasteful they feel. The line between choice and duty has become irrevocably blurred, until ultimately all he can do is continue putting one foot in front of the other, committing to the path he’d chosen. With hesitation comes inaction, with inaction comes ignoble failure. A legacy of weakness. Viren will not be weak.

Still, he is tired.

The heavy clang of the iron door slamming shut stirs the elf slumped in the corner, his head rising in suspicion, watching Viren’s approach. His turquoise eyes are narrowed, but remain bright as ever in the semi-darkness, the bruises that once marked the delicate, pale skin of his face mostly healed. His hair is a tousled mess, nearly half of it hanging in his face, which is wary as he regards Viren setting down a small bag of supplies.

“Why do you wait to kill me?” Runaan asks, his voice raspy with thirst and exhaustion. Viren sighs, pausing to look up and catch his gaze.

“I’ve already told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then why keep me here? What use am I to you?”

Viren looks at Runaan’s arm, swollen and deep purple, the elvish bonding ribbon cutting more painfully into his bicep by the day. The fingers hang limp, and Viren knows that with only a few days more, the entire limb will be unsalvageable. 

“What are you doing?” Runaan asks in alarm, eyes widening as Viren moves closer, gaze flickering between his raised arm and Viren’s face. It’s almost flattering, this unexpected display of emotion from the normally stoic, immovable elf, but that’s not the point. Not today. 

“Helping.” Viren can feel the elf’s breaths come faster as he moves in to place the key in the small lock, can smell the faint sweat that rises from his skin, a deep, lush scent that is reminiscent of morning dew in the late summer. A human in his position would have been completely rank by now. When the chain springs open Runaan gives an aborted cry of pain, clenching his jaw tight in agonized silence. Viren cradles the swollen arm in his hands before it can fall, examining it closely, as Runaan visibly regulates his breathing, eyes red and watering.

“It can’t be removed,” he grits out, watching with an air of resignation. “The mission wasn’t completed, therefore it will never come off. This magic is beyond whatever skill you think you possess.”

“Ye of little faith," Viren teases, selecting the small obsidian blade from his bag, as sharp as dragonglass, holding it up to the light. He glances back at Runaan, who is watching the proceedings with trepidation. “I’ll need some of your blood.”

“Absolutely not!” Long, pointed ears twist outwards in alarm and he hisses in rage when Viren lazily slashes the palm of his good hand, coating the blade with a thin layer of blood while Runaan tenses in pain, vainly attempting to wrest his hand out of Viren's grip. _“Damn_ you, I _swear_ on every—”

“You’re in no position to even make an attempt at a threat right now,” Viren interrupts smoothly, dabbing at the small wound, then examining the blade, holding it carefully so as not to spill any blood. 

Runaan glowers at him, chastened, wary. “What are you going to do with that?”

“What do you think?”

“You're not listening. Just leave it be. And get the _fuck_ away from me.”

“Do you want to keep your arm, or your pride?”

Finally, Runaan falls silent, and Viren places the blade onto the ground, then releases a single luminescent butterfly from a jar, cradling it in his palm. When he finishes the spell, the butterfly lies crumpled and grey at his feet, the blade smoking, glowing a deep red. When he picks it up, it’s cool, and he brings the sharpest tip of it to the ribbon cutting into the elf’s arm, then hesitates.

“I will have to break the skin—it’s unavoidable—but the good news is, you won’t feel it. Yet.”

“This isn’t—going—to work,” Runaan spits, but he holds himself very still, clearly unsettled by the display of dark magic, the unnatural glow of the menacing tool. 

“Just, trust me,” Viren says, and misses Runaan’s startled look as he makes one decisive cut into the ribbon, slicing it cleanly open, even as dark blood spills from the shallow cut in Runaan’s arm. The elf gives a cry of surprise but Viren ignores it, working quickly to staunch and clean the wound, tossing the soiled cloth aside.

Next he plucks a dark bottle from his bag, while still holding onto Runaan’s arm with his other hand. The elf works his jaw silently, looking from Viren to the bottle then back again, calculating. “What is it you want from me?”

A wave of exhaustion passes through Viren so rapidly that he sways where he sits, shaking his head and blinking. When had he last slept? Today was…what day was it?

“—the matter with you?” Runaan’s glare shifts into an expression slightly less hostile, more curious. Viren shakes his head again, refocuses his attention on Runaan’s arm, which he’d unknowingly squeezed to steady himself. 

“That’s none of your concern.” Runaan snorts, shrugs as Viren unstoppers the bottle and pours the viscous clear liquid in a thin, straight line down Runaan’s arm, massaging it into the skin with broad, circular swipes of his fingers. They both remain quiet as he works, the smell of mint and mugwort rising from the solution as Viren applies more. When he chances a glance up at Runaan, the elf raises his eyes from his arm to find Viren’s as well, and their gazes hold, Viren’s breaths quickening in the tense silence. He’s only half aware of the continued motions of his fingers, now smoothing dry circles into Runaan’s unfeeling skin, the salve having been absorbed. His eyes flicker involuntarily down to the elf’s lips, and it’s only when they spread into a small smirk that Viren clears his throat, closes the bottle and sets it down, picking up a roll of gauze next.

“I see,” Runaan says quietly, sounding amused as he watches Viren’s cheeks flood with color. “Why, you can no longer even meet my eyes. My strong, fearsome captor.”

“Once the feeling starts to come back to your arm, it will be painful,” Viren says, keeping his eyes trained on his own hands, as they deftly unwind the deep green material to begin twining it around Runaan’s arm. “I will need to change these once daily.”

Runaan opens his mouth, likely to make another sarcastic comment, and then he pauses, frowning, and lowers his head to sniff inquiringly. “This is made from the leaves of a moonoak tree.”

“Yes,” Viren agrees, glancing up quickly to find Runaan watching him with that odd little frown.

“You—” the elf stops again, settling his head back against the wall, shaking his head with slow frustration. “So, you heal my arm, and then what? Are you going to let me go?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not.” Runaan sounds almost amused. “But you won’t kill me.”

Viren hates repeating himself. He says nothing.

“And I refuse to give you any information. So your plan is to heal me, so you can torture me more effectively?”

“You seem awfully eager for death and disfigurement,” Viren notes, raising an eyebrow at him. Runaan’s expression hardens, and the chain restraining his other arm clangs as he moves forward suddenly, bringing their faces mere inches from each other. He watches Viren’s eyes snap up, the bob of his throat as he swallows heavily.

“If you won’t kill me, hurt me, or let me go, then you can only want one thing,” Runaan murmurs, lips curling into a grin as Viren flushes again, closes his eyes. “Aha. So you really are just another foolish human playing at villain, weakened by his own desires.”

_“Careful,_ elf,” Viren warns, but his voice trembles the tiniest bit, and he knows Runaan hears it. Weakened, indeed. He’s so tired, he can’t think, can’t do anything right, can’t even control himself enough not to reveal his full hand to a literal elven assassin he’s only just managed to keep under lock and key. 

Runaan chuckles, which turns into a short, dry coughing fit. Viren clucks his tongue and smooths over the final pass of gauze before reaching for the jug of fresh water he brings every time he visits, which Runaan summarily refuses. This time, though, he coughs a final time and then tilts his head back, opening his mouth and keeping his eyes on Viren as the other man brings the jug’s opening to his mouth, tipping it slowly until the water flows past his lips, down his throat. Viren is sweating beneath his robes as he watches Runaan watching him, finally tearing his eyes away long enough to follow the smooth motion of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, over and over. When Runaan makes a small noise, Viren moves the jug away, but mistimes it, causing a few drops to spill from his mouth and race down his chin. Without thinking, Viren reaches up to catch the droplets against his thumb, and then Runaan turns his head ever so slightly to encourage the slow sweep of it into his mouth, suckling gently at the digit, curling his tongue around it and nipping it lightly, pulling a low sound from Viren’s throat that's suspiciously close to a moan.

“Unshackle me,” Runaan murmurs, eyes dropping to Viren’s lips, but Viren scowls, embarrassed, and re-shackles the elf’s newly bandaged arm instead. 

“You take me for a fool.”

“Well,” Runaan says easily, head turned to watch Viren with a smirk that edges on cocky. “That’s not untrue.”

“Don’t test me.” Viren busies himself with packing his bag, mind racing with fear, with excitement, with dread. What had he done? What was he doing?

“I know what havoc desire can wreak on a man,” Runaan continues, as if Viren hadn’t spoken. Secure in his knowledge of Viren’s lust, he is more relaxed than Viren has ever seen him, no doubt scheming on how to use this surprising development to his advantage. Viren will need to be extra vigilant, now, and he can’t do that if he’s this worn down. He stands to leave, and is pulling open the door when Runaan speaks.

“I’ll see you _tomorrow_ ,” he needles, his voice stronger and clearer, post-hydration. Without Viren bringing him that water, he would have remained weak, only continued getting weaker. It’s Viren with the keys, Viren with the power, Viren who can choose to extend or withhold mercy as he sees fit. Without another word or backward glance, Viren leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

//

The next day, Runaan is silent again, furious with his imprisonment, his eyes flashing at Viren as his gauze is changed, and he kicks away the jug of water Viren brought, the liquid streaking across the cold stone floor. Viren wordlessly deposits the water back into the jug with a silent wave of his hand, and Runaan narrows his eyes, looks away, and doesn’t move as Viren leaves again.

//

The day after that, Viren finds him shivering and covered in a cold sweat, his teeth clenched in pain as Viren peels back the sodden layers of gauze. Beneath, the skin has faded from swollen and purple to an angry, mottled red.

“You never said,” Runaan bites out, chest heaving as Viren carefully applies more salve, glaring at him. “You never said it would be like this.”

“I told you there would be pain,” Viren argues, turning the arm in his hand, satisfied with its progress. “I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is a good sign. Your arm is saved.”

“You’re a goddamn monster.” Runaan groans in pain, clenching his eyes shut, head thunking back against the wall as Viren continues his ministrations. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You are not redeeming yourself here.”

“I have no interest in whatever you consider redemption, or in your opinion of me in general.”

Choking out a humorless laugh, Runaan bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as Viren finishes, then watches as he begins to apply a fresh roll of gauze. “Somehow I doubt that. I have never seen someone less sure or more in need of approval in my life.” His voices slowly evens out, the pain having reached a plateau and settled for the time being. “You are losing this war.”

“So, it would seem, are you.”

“Have you found no aid in the mirror?”

Viren looks up sharply, face paling. “Aid? What sort of aid?”

Runaan smirks, but there is a touch of relief in his eyes. “That would be a no, then.” And then he _screams,_ tears streaming from his eyes, when Viren squeezes his injured arm, mouth set in a cruel, thin line. “Fuck, fuck, _fu—”_

“And you call _me_ foolish. Let’s try this again, since you seem much more talkative today,” Viren croons, moving in closer until Runaan stares up at him in mingled fear and hatred, blinking through the sudden wash of tears. “What do you know of the mirror?” When Runaan’s mouth curls, Viren shakes his head with a knowing grin. “Ah, ah, I’d choose my next words carefully, if I were you.”

Runaan closes his mouth again, growls beneath his breath. “The mirror holds the archmage Aaravos,” he grinds out finally, beaten. “I do not understand the magic that imprisons him there. You’ll find no mention of him in your _books,_ so don’t bother looking. Avizandum spelled every record of his deeds and misdeeds stricken from all written memory.”

Viren’s mind spins, dizzy with the unexpected windfall of knowledge. “Why? Who is this Aaravos? What did he do to anger the dragon king?”

Runaan sneers, leans forward until his lips brush Viren’s ear. “Torture me all you like,” he whispers, and Viren tenses, all blood rushing south as the warm breath washes over his ear. “I will help you no further.”

Viren hums, pulling away to take in Runaan’s sickly pale skin, the beads of sweat still dotting his forehead. This was enough to work with, for now. The elf deserved a bit of care, he'd earned it. “How do you feel?”

Runaan only manages a glare before he closes his eyes, momentarily spent, as Viren expected. Wetting a cloth with cool water and a splash of lavender oil, he drags it gently across the elf’s face, noting the way he jerks in surprise, his eyes flying open to fix Viren with an unreadable look.

_“Shhh,”_ Viren hushes softly, unthinkingly, but rather than try to pull away, or curse him, or spit at him, Runaan just slumps further against the wall, accepting the light touch, swallowing as Viren mops away the sweat, dragging the damp cloth down his neck, across the exposed skin of his chest. It takes several long minutes, and when he finishes, Runaan is still watching him, eyes half-lidded beneath long white lashes.

“You find me pleasing, human,” Runaan intones, and it’s not a question, so Viren doesn’t answer. “Do you normally have to take someone into captivity before they are finally beaten enough to consent to lie with you?”

Before Viren shuts the door to leave, he turns back to see Runaan staring miserably down at the gauze covering his arm.

//

Runaan is silent the following three days, though he doesn’t resist any of Viren’s touches as he administers more salve and changes the gauze, and even shuts his eyes, seemingly calm, as Viren finally gives into temptation, brushing soft tendrils of hair away from the elf’s face. He fantasizes, briefly, about leading the elf in chains to his chambers, undressing him in silence, preparing him a hot, herbal bath and helping to lower him into the steaming water. Scrubbing his skin gently with his finest soaps and oils, massaging a cleansing potion into the long hair that’s grown dirty and tangled from resting on the floor of his prison. Attending to every bruise and cut and hidden injury the elf has sustained, dotting kisses across his—

When Runaan’s eyes flicker open, a little too bright and too knowing, Viren all but flees, and doesn’t return for nearly two days.

//

“I thought you'd forgotten about me,” Runaan sneers, watching Viren approach with angry suspicion. “Have you come to play in my hair again, human? Perhaps this time you’d like to undress me? Pretend we are lovers?”

Viren chafes with shame, with being caught out yet again, and his face burns as he stalks closer, brings the water jug rather harshly to Runaan’s lips. “Shut up,” he says savagely, and watches the elf choke a bit before swallowing deeply, his eyes still narrowed and trained on Viren. A thick silence grows between them as Runaan drinks gratefully, releasing short breaths through his nose. It’s a strangely vulnerable sight, one that cools the flames of Viren’s sudden anger as quickly as they’d risen. 

“That’s right, drink it all down,” he says softly, watching a few drops trickle out and drip down Runaan’s neck. He’s barely aware of speaking, barely aware of where the words are coming from, but he watches in fascination as Runaan’s eyes widen and his cheeks and ears flush the softest pink. _“Good_ boy.”

Runaan moans helplessly, snapping his eyes shut and wrenching his head away from the jug, the abrupt movement catching Viren by surprise. Some more water splashes out and sluices down his skin, soaking into his thin white tunic. Viren watches the water spread in the fabric, heart thudding as his gaze lowers, further down, to the unmistakable bulge tenting Runaan’s fitted trousers.

“Get out,” Runaan bites out in humiliation, folding his legs up to hide the evidence of his arousal, still avoiding Viren’s gaze. His hands curl into tight fists, making the metal dig even deeper into his flesh, the pulsing veins.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Viren replies, amused, and tilts his head when Runaan finally meets his gaze, the angle of his brow belaying the slightest tinge of fear. Viren laughs lowly, leaning in closer, vainly glad he’d foregone his usual layers of robes tonight, opting for just a light uncollared chemise, the drawstrings left loose. “Oh, so you _are_ frightened of me now, are you?”

“Fuck you,” Runaan heaves, flushing pink again, eyes traveling over Viren’s face, then dropping down to his neck, his nearly exposed chest. He chuckles once, then looks back up at Viren with a mocking curl of his lip. “Is this your attempt at seduction? You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re hard.” Viren places his palm between Runaan’s legs and _squeezes,_ feeling the flesh there twitch and grow firmer in his hand, his own cock stirring at the elf’s low groan. His mouth waters as Runaan’s hips jerk helplessly, seeking a firmer touch. Viren immediately removes his hand, humming contentedly when Runaan is unable to smother a frustrated growl, glaring daggers at Viren as the mage stands, looming over him. His eyes catch on Viren’s half-hard cock and he just breathes silently for a moment, licking and biting his lip, sounding rather breathless when he speaks.

“What game are you playing?”

“That’s for me to worry about,” Viren responds, taking one step forward, and then another, until his crotch is inches away from Runaan’s face. He sighs shakily as Runaan quickly leans forward to rub his cheek along the outline of his still hardening cock, opening his mouth wide to graze the fabric gently with his teeth. “Look at that, you’ve already caught on.”

“You aren’t as clever as you think you are, human." His voice is somewhat muffled as he grinds his face further into Viren’s crotch, and his shoulders visibly strain as he tries to get closer, chains clinking as they keep him restrained. He groans in irritation, glaring at up Viren.

“Unshackle me.”

“What?” Viren laughs, curling one hand into Runaan’s hair, deftly opening his trousers with the other. “No, but nice try.” He takes himself in hand, dragging the drooling tip of his cock slowly over Runaan’s lips, which part instantly, sucking him in, his mouth so wet, so hot and tight. _“Fuck,_ I knew you’d feel good.” Viren’s low groan slides into a hiss when Runaan flashes his teeth once more, scraping them gently along the hot, silken skin, and he watches the elf flinch as he tightens the fingers in his hair even more, until those pretty blue eyes are trained on him again, and watering in pain. “Don’t get any _ideas_ ,” he sing-songs softly, performing an inconsequential, silent spell simply to make his eyes flash glowing violet, a not-so-subtle threat. Runaan huffs out a surprised breath through his nose and just takes Viren in deeper, rubbing his tongue along the underside of the sensitive head, coaxing out more fluid. “That’s right, suck me, elf. Just like that.”

Runaan shuts his eyes with an unbidden, shaky little moan that sends a rush of scorching heat throughout Viren’s veins, making him sway a bit and clutch Runaan closer, until he can hear the elf gag as he swallows him completely down. Viren loosens the hand that’s clenched in his hair, and brings the other up to rub across Runaan’s cheek, so slowly and gently that Runaan releases another quiet whimper, surrendering to Viren’s firm hold, opening his mouth even wider as Viren gives short, shallow thrusts in and out, releasing a low grunt every time he touches the back of the elf’s tight, hot throat. 

“You _like_ this, don’t you?” Viren wonders quietly, feeling his release build slow and heavy, unable to stop himself from further mussing Runaan’s gorgeous hair, wrapping the length of it around his wrist. He traces the outline of Runaan’s lips where they’re stretched tight and spit-slick around Viren’s cock, pushing one finger in to rub at the smooth inner flesh of the elf’s cheek, snapping his hips in harder, faster. “Fuck, you do...you’re taking it so good, look at you.” He groans at Runaan’s frantic movements below him, the frustrated clang of his chains as his hips punch uselessly forward, seeking friction however he can as he swallows desperately around Viren’s cock. “Can you come just like this, without me touching you? Can you come just from gagging on my cock? I think you can.”

Runaan _whines_ and then freezes before jerking violently once more with a strangled moan, and if his pants weren’t black, Viren is sure there’d be a stain spreading across the front of them right now. Viren slides out of his slackened mouth with an audible pop, thick lines of saliva stretching from Runaan’s lips to Viren’s glistening cock, which he wastes no time in stripping down, his orgasm so close he can _taste_ it. He’s never talked like this during sex, was never able to find the courage to; in fact it was usually him in Runaan’s position, prostrate, humbled, and eager, trapped in the endless shame-desire feedback loop as he was praised and belittled. The unexpected role reversal makes him feel heady with power, nearly drunk as he finally tips over the edge, painting the elf’s upturned face white with a relieved sigh, limbs trembling with the strength of his release.

“Viren,” Runaan breathes, his face so open, so goddamn beautiful, that Viren can’t do anything but lower himself to kneeling, grabbing the elf's chin to hold him in place as he drags his tongue along his skin, sucking down his own spend, heart thumping rapidly at Runaan’s shocked inhale, at the way he twists and tilts his head to help Viren reach every spot. And then it’s just a matter of slotting their mouths together hungrily, tongues sweeping out to perform a lurid, wet dance, sighing and groaning against each other’s lips as the kiss deepens. Viren is hardly aware of lowering himself even more into Runaan's lap, the elf spreading his thighs even wider and groaning as Viren sucks on his lips and tastes him and _tastes_ him like he's ravenous for it, and for several long minutes the small cell is only filled with the gentle rustle of them shifting together, sighing and moaning in mutual pleasure, the soft wet sounds of their lips connecting and separating, again and again and again. When Viren finally pulls away, Runaan’s mouth is red and swollen, pupils hugely dilated, his cheeks glowing that deliciously distracting shade of pink that has come to haunt Viren’s dreams nightly.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name,” Viren says in slow realization, and Runaan just stares at him for a moment, then gives him a cold, disbelieving smile, straining forward again to bite gently at his ear.

“Foolish human," he whispers, soothing the bite with a slow lick, before biting it again, much harder. "This is not a romance."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! don't forget to drink some water ;)


End file.
